


Bet You Didn't Know I Was Dangerous

by merrabeth



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, angry crying, kissy kissy and crying crying, non verbal profession of love, other shameless-esque things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3185612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrabeth/pseuds/merrabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>derekandstiles4ever said:<br/>How are you doing in this fine days of shameless?I would like to ask for a fic of Mickey find out about Ian cheating and gets mad,Ian promise he'll get treatment and they make out and have sex and cuddle and all the fluff that comes to your mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bet You Didn't Know I Was Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> There was supposed to be angry sex but it turned into angry sap and I started tearing up a bit, not gonna lie.

Ian seemed so far away from where he stood at the dining table. Mickey stood in front of the couch, conveniently so since he was sure he’d drop at any moment. Was he even breathing? Was this even real?

“Mickey,” Ian whispered in pleading. His green gaze hung on Mickey’s every move. How dare he look sad, “please, say something.”

His mouth, his lips, Mickey had to say something. His fingertips glided over the soft, dry skin of his own, and all he could feel was Ian’s on his. But he wasn’t the only one to feel those lips, was he? Sure, Mickey knew of the guys before him...but he never even fathomed the thought of anyone after him- or during him. He had to say something.

“You didn’t…” he trailed off, trying to semble some form of normalcy in all the surreal surrounding them. In what world would he ever care? When had he fallen so deep that he cared about kissing?

Ian didn’t understand. Was Mickey trying to ask a question? Could he not wrap his head around the words that Ian had said? “I didn’t, what?”

This silence, it was something neither was used to. Where was the swearing thrown with paperweights and plates and knives? Where were the throws to the face, the blows to the chest, the kicks to the groin? Where were the blue eyes of rage and fury? But more importantly, where the fuck was Ian?

No, this wasn’t Ian, Mickey figured. It was a person that looked so much like him, but it wasn’t Ian. The guy that he found at the club grinding on some guy for money, that wasn’t Ian either. The Ian Mickey knew was left at the base he’d run off to- no.

The Ian Mickey knew was left on that recliner where Terry had held him at gunpoint and made him watch as Mickey was forced to change who he was. The Ian Mickey knew was left in the basement of that pathetic community center where Mickey had signed ‘a fuckin’ piece of paper’ that made it law that Mickey wasn’t Ian’s, but some Russian whore’s.

For months, hadn’t Lip and Fiona been telling Mickey that Ian was sick? Had Mickey really let himself deny it for so long? Did he really have to hear Ian tell him that Mickey wasn’t the only one for him to understand that something was wrong?

Mickey took a step forward when he felt himself begin to tip. Maybe he hadn’t been breathing. And now he was walking, trying to make his way to Ian; even as he stood face to face with him, he was still so far away. Even as those green eyes watered in apology and guilt, they were off and flying away somewhere in himself.

“Ian,” Mickey croaked, his eyes wandering everywhere but to truly meet Ians, “you need help.”

“No,” Ian growled, the water threatening to spill over, his head shaking frantically. Ian stepped back, unable to see this Mickey that wasn’t throwing and kicking and yelling. “You’re supposed to be mad.” Mickey deflated at his words, knowing them to be true. He should be upset, enraged. “You’re supposed to be yelling, Mickey. Fucking yell! Scream! Get mad!” He stepped forward again now, only thinking of the other time when Mickey hadn’t wanted to speak, when he couldn’t even swim through the dread and weariness to even look up. “Hit me!”

And Mickey did, an open palm smack that shoved Ian to the wall, to the ground. Mickey couldn’t stop here, Ian thought as he stood back up, barely feeling the sting on his face. Those blue eyes shined, and he was almost excited to see some order, someone who was able to find himself; Ian wishes he could do that, find himself. He’s been lost for a while but he’d be damned if he’d let anyone help. “Again,” he snarled. “Again!”

Mickey shook his head, turned away as something threatened to let go, but he wasn’t sure what it was. He just need to take in some air, let himself breathe. When he was sure his throat wouldn’t close up he spoke with as much serenity as he could muster. “You’re sick, Ian. This...isn’t you.”

“Yes, yes it is!”

Mickey signed and faced Ian, the wary creeping back in.“No, you’re just sick. You wouldn’t have done this-”

“I don’t need fucking sympathy, Mick!” He shouted desperately, as if Mickey was backing away from him, as if yelling could make his boyfriend resurface, the same boyfriend that would have cringed at the word a year ago. “Nothing’s wrong! I just need you to...to-”

“Asshole!” Mickey shoved, pushing Ian more into the kitchen. “You can’t ask for shit. You’re the one that fucking cheated!” The anger was rising back for air again, and it was stronger. “And to think, all the shit I had to go through so you wouldn’t just fucking leave again? You couldn’t get it through your thick skull that me being this could’ve gotten me killed!” The anger really was coming with a vengeance, dragging out dusted over chests that had been locked for what felt like centuries. “I put my life on the line for you,” Mickey hissed, “I had to trudge through so much fucking filth and you-you  were the one that started this whole labeling thing! Never took you to be a polygamist.” Mickey huffed a laugh, feeling his heartbeat, his blood running fast and burning his being, his bones shaking, his eyes burning and his throat threatening to close up again. He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t try to hold it in again. It hurt so much more to try and pretend like he could handle this, like the weight wasn’t crushing his chest to millions of unfixable pieces. “No, more importantly, you won’t fucking admit that you’re out of control! You won’t fucking admit that you need help, so I just have to sit here and watch you do all this crazy shit-”

“Mickey, I didn’t like it-”

“I’m not done!” Mickey shut down Ian’s interjection quickly. “You wanted me to be pissed! You wanted to hear my yell! I’m fucking doin’ it!” When had he gotten so loud? When had his words reverberated back to him? When had he gotten to a level he didn’t know he could reach. “But for some reason, I’m not mad at you. I mean, yeah, you trying to hide it is fucking annoying, but I can’t do shit! I can’t make you do anything and I wish I could. I can’t make you stay and I can’t make you get help!” When had his vision gone blurry? When had he began to breathe just to make sure he was still at bay, rather than letting all of what he felt out? When had he gotten so lightheaded? He needed to lay down...in the fetal position because this much chaos was nothing like the shit Terry could make.

Ian watched as Mickey gripped the counter as he went for the floor, just kneeling for a second before he pulled his legs out from under him and sat with his back against the cupboards, his knees drawing in and his arms going to cover his head. Ian only noticed the slight trembling from Mickey before he dropped down next to him, wanting to comfort him in a way he’s never done before. This is the Mickey that only came out in his eyes from time to time, when they were alone, the Mickey that would check their surroundings just to make sure it was safe to be who they were, the Mickey that had been beaten senseless and expected to conform. That Mickey had finally taken over in that moment, making him draw inward and Ian knew he was the reason why. He thought he felt guilty before…

It had gone deathly quiet, the yelling ceased and the heavy air of anger and frustration gone. All that was left was Ian sitting beside Mickey in an empty house, the roles had reversed.

“Mickey?” Ian squeaked, place a hand on Mickey’s arm, just as Mickey had tried to pull back the covers from Ian’s face months ago. But unlike then, Mickey didn’t shrug him off. He just trembled, his blood running hot under his skin.Ian didn’t want to push to the point where Mickey would draw away. He’d done enough damage already.

A few silent minutes later, Mickey mumbled something that Ian didn’t understand, and Ian almost didn’t want to ask for Mickey to repeat himself.

Mickey lifted his head just the slightest; his arms still shadowed most of his face, but Ian caught the light that glistened off his damp cheeks, the reddish undertone to Mickey’s eyes, the veins in his eyes standing out.

“You still want to be here, right?” Mickey croaked. His eyebrows furrowed and Ian’s breath caught at the hoping almost pleading look on Mickey’s face. “You still wanna be with me, right?” He changed the question, and the hitch in his voice at the end killed Ian all over again.

“Of course. I…” Ian let himself not finish the statement. What if Mickey still wasn’t ready for that, the ‘I love you’?

“Then, Ian…” a few tears flooded over to add to the drying collection. Ian instinctively went to wipe them away, recognizing that they didn’t belong to this man’s face, this man’s character. Mickey Milkovich didn’t cry, “please, let us help you.”

Ian had done so much wrong in his life. But all he could really remember was leaving, coming back and having to see Mickey again the way he did, let himself get out of control with everything. Though he still couldn’t admit it to himself, he saw Mickey and the tears that he wiped away, the way Mickey pressed into the contact and knew that he was the reason for this moment right now. Even if Mickey couldn’t say it out loud, he loved Ian, just as Ian loved him. If Mickey thought he needed help, he’d get it, because he didn’t want to see the man he loved like this. So he nodded, muttering an ‘I promise’ before leaning in.

Mickey pressed their lips together rather harshly, tasting the salt of his own tears on their tongues and clawing at Ian’s neck, wanting him closer and closer. It was desperate and noisy, enough to block out the silence or fill it, they’re not sure which. But neither wanted to let go and would rather die from the lack of oxygen they weren’t getting than to pull away. Ever.

* * *

 

Ian had fallen asleep a while ago, and Mickey had tried to drift to the rise and fall of Ian’s body, but there was something aching at Mickey and it threatened to start his emotional breakdown all over again. Geeze, when had he grown so soft?

He idolly traced at his boyfriend’s bare chest, feeling the protective shield he created with his long and strong arms. Looking up, he met Ian’s chin, and he grinned easily at how safe he felt like this, his face buried into Ian’s neck and their bodies impossibly close together. How was it that he could be the one that always protected and never question the one person that protected him even in his state of unconsciousness? How had he even let him in like this?

Mickey couldn’t say it- fuck, he could barely think it. But as his fingers moved over his chest, he felt himself spelling out the key words he didn’t even know he understood. There was no ‘maybe; I dunno’ about this. And Mickey could spell it out, at least.

**‘I L-O-V-E Y-O-U.’**

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this for some odd reason, you should leave a prompt in my ask thingy on tumblr. Same username :)


End file.
